


Off the Clock

by KatStratford



Series: Serena Stories [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Boston Red Sox, Dancing, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Humor, I think these tags are making this fic sound a lot crazier than it actually is, Interviews, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Rope Bondage, Schmoop, Serena Simmons, sex accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatStratford/pseuds/KatStratford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you think would happen if we told people what our everyday lives are really like?”</p>
<p>“They’d be super fucking disappointed.”</p>
<p>“Or scandalized!” She said hopefully.</p>
<p>Chris gave her a skeptical look. “Nothing we do is enough to scandalize people anymore.”</p>
<p>“You’re no fun.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Clock

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as usual to [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfoxes/>SevenFoxes</a>%20for%20putting%20up%20with%20me%20whining%20about%20this%20dumb%20story%20for%20months.)

“ _Serena Simmons Tells All_ ,” Chris read over her shoulder.

“I did,” Serena said, deadpan. “I told all. You have to change our wifi password. I gave it to the _Cosmo_ reporter.”

“Did you see my _GQ_ cover?” He said, poking her shoulder solely because he knew it annoyed her.

“ _Chris Evans: The Avenger Without a Filter_? Yeah. What’d you do, mention my ass again?”

“I didn’t say one thing I haven’t said in at least three other interviews.”

“Well done. High five.” He slapped her waiting hand. “What do you think would happen if we told people what our everyday lives are really like?”

“They’d be super fucking disappointed.”

“Or scandalized!” She said hopefully.

Chris gave her a skeptical look. “Nothing we do is enough to scandalize people anymore.”

“You’re no fun.”

 “I’m sayin’!”

***

> This is the first time Simmons has been willing to discuss her boyfriend of a year, Marvel hottie Chris Evans. She says, “He’s super patient. I think I can be a bit of a handful, but it never fazes him.”

“Hang on a second. I need to check something.”

Serena breathed carefully into the pillow, trying not to laugh. She loved Chris. She loved that when she awkwardly mentioned that she thought it might be sexy good fun if he trussed her up like a Christmas ham, he said, “Yeah, we can do that,” even though his face scrunched up all confused-like.

“I can buy the rope,” she had told him hurriedly at the time. “There’s a special kind…”

“Yeah, I mean, I wasn’t going to go to the hardware store or anything?”

“Okay, okay.” And that mortifying conversation had thankfully ended.

Now here she was, hands and wrists pressed together between her breasts, rope wrapped around them and criss-crossing over and around her torso, while Chris tried to figure out what sort of knot to make to tie everything together.

Serena heard the shuffle of paper. “Do you have _notes_?” She giggled.

“ _Listen_ ,” he said, giggling back. “I want to get this right.” He finally finished up and rolled her onto her back. He smiled. “Hi. How’s that feel?”

“Okay?” she said. “I’m kind of embarrassed?”

“Why?” he asked, still smiling a little as he ran his fingertips under each section of rope, looking for any spots that were too tight.

Serena felt warmth pool in her belly at his touch. She shifted her hips and tried to regain her train of thought. “You don’t think I look ridiculous?”

“I think you look turned on,” he said slowly, reaching up to thumb over her nipple. Serena shuddered. “And that’s always a good look on you.”

*** 

> “No, we’re really, really boring.” Evans laughs, brushing off the idea of himself and Simmons as a Hollywood power couple. “I mean, if I had to compare us to a fictional couple, I’d pick those old guys in _The Muppet Show_ balcony. We just sit around and bitch about shit.”

Chris knew Serena was watching the Red Sox before he even got through the door. She only swore that creatively when baseball was involved.

“Oh, you shit-stained cockwaffle,” she hollered as he sat down next to her. “Hey,” she added absentmindedly at him.

“Hey. You mad at the team or one guy in particular?” He gauged her anger level by her body language before deciding it was safe to lay his head in her lap.

She scratched at the short hair on his scalp and said, “Just Buchholz, who I want removed from the rotation and shot into the sun.”

“Sounds reasonable,” he muttered, close to purring when she moved down to scratch between his shoulder blades. “They in last place again?” Chris didn’t love baseball as much as Serena did, so he was happy to get his Sox updates from her.

“Uh, no,” she said, sounding shifty.

Chris opened an eye and said, “What place are they in?”

“First by two games,” she said quickly, before grumpily adding, “Doesn’t change the fact that our number two pitcher can’t throw a strike for shit.”

Chris pressed his lips together and shook with silent laughter. “Rena, you contain the bitterness of a Boston fan three times your age.”

She snorted before airily announcing, “I’ll take that as a compliment,” then immediately yelling, “Ugh, why did you swing at that?”

*** 

> “I’m pretty Type A,” Simmons confesses. “I keep a lot of lists, not just for my career, but for like, life experiences and things.”

Before Serena started sleeping with Chris, she’d thought of sex as pleasant, but nothing special. Then Chris had spent an entire afternoon touching her all over, crooning praise in her ear as she begged him to get inside of her already.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured with his fingers on her cunt. “You’re so sweet,” he whispered kissing her nipples.

She’d had tears on her eyelashes by the time he’d finally pushed his cock into her, feeling like he was deeper than anyone had ever been. And when he gasped, “Good girl, you’re so good to me, so good,” she’d come so hard she’d seen stars.

After that, Serena wanted to try _everything_. Chris was flattered, then amused, and it was a testament to his good nature that he was still willing to experiment even after a few...mishaps.

“You should come on my face,” she panted in the midst of the most enthusiastic blowjob she’d ever given.

“Um.”

Okay, she probably shouldn’t have brought it up mid-fellatio. He looked like maybe he didn’t have enough blood left in his brain to understand what she’d said. So she made the decision for him, pulling off of his dick as she heard the high-pitched gasps that meant he was close to coming.

In theory, feeling him mark her would be arousing in a primal, caveman sort of way, and he would probably do something appropriately caveman-ish in response, like growl and/or finger-fuck her until she screamed.

In practice, Serena had _not_ expected it to feel like someone had just cracked an egg on her face. Her grimace was automatic and, judging by the way Chris started laughing mid-orgasm, not particularly sexy.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, still laughing. “You look like you just bit into a lemon.”

“Uuuuuugh. I thought that was going to be hot!” she said, too busy thoroughly wiping the come off of her cheek and neck to even be embarrassed. “Oh yuck. I’m never complaining about swallowing again.”

Chris continued laughing. “The look. On your face.”

Serena flopped down on top of him. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

Chris kissed her sweetly, then said, “Nope!”

***

> When asked what he and Simmons do for fun, Evans thinks for awhile before saying, “We laugh a lot,” and shrugging exaggeratedly. “Lamest fucking answer ever, right? Sorry man, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

When she had free time, Serena would push the couch back until it hit the kitchen island, put a music video on the tv, and practice until she had the choreography perfect. Usually it was Beyonce or the weird girl in the blonde wig, but today when Chris walked through the kitchen, he noticed that the screen showed two men doing Broadway-style jazz hands together.

“What’s this?” he asked, forgetting why he was in the kitchen in the first place.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Excellent. I need your help.” She skipped over and grabbed his hand, dragging him into the middle of the living room.

“Okay?” he said. “Uh, what am I doing?”

She rewound the video and said, “Just watch the guy in the bowtie and try to imitate his moves. I can show you if you can’t get it just from watching.”

“Okay.” As Chris shuffled his feet and entirely missed at least three high kicks, he said, “So what’s going on here?”

“You’re a superspy. I’m a supervillain. We realize we’re in love and do a dance.” She didn’t actually say, “Duh,” but he could hear it in her voice.

“No,” he said, circling his hands in a clockwise motion and doing a spin. “Why are we learning this dance?”

“Oh,” she replied, with a high kick, step back, and another high kick. “Because it seemed like a better idea than developing a drug habit or starting a lifestyle brand?”

“Fair enough,” he declared, grasping her hand and jumping.

***

> “I think a thing people don’t know about me is that I’m secretly a huge sap,” Simmons states confidently. “This Cool Girl shit is all smoke and Instagram filters.”

Chris woke up with a vague feeling of unease and quickly realized it was because Serena wasn’t in bed with him. He sat up in the dim light and rubbed his hands through his hair. He squinted at the huge picture window that made up the far wall of his bedroom and saw Serena outside, cigarette in one hand, phone in the other, wearing nothing but a pair of magenta underwear, her hair a wild halo around her head.

He untangled himself from the sheets and stood, walking over and opening the french door onto the patio.

“Hey,” she said, tilting the phone towards the horizon, where the first rays of the morning sun were shooting above the trees. “I let Dodger out. I can’t believe you slept through his whining.”

“You coulda woke me up,” he grunted, shivering as the cold morning air hit him. He turned and went back to grab the comforter off the bed.

“Nah,” she called, clicking a photo of the sunrise, frowning and fiddling with the filter before taking another picture. “Figured you needed the rest.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, settling down on the chaise-lounge with the blanket wrapped around himself.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she said, snapping a few more pictures.

“You gonna post that on Instagram with hashtag-blessed?” he teased.

“I’m amazed you even know enough about social media to make that joke,” she replied, coming over to burrow into his blanket cocoon. “First of all, sunrises aren’t my brand. Second of all, most of the stuff I take photos of are just to remind me of happy things when I scroll past them on my phone.”

“The dog waking you up at 5 a.m. is a happy thing?” Chris asked with a yawn.

“Well, when I got up, _he_ was so happy he licked my whole face. Then I got to I listen to the man I love snoring. Then I watched Venus fade as the sun came up and thought about how to the whole rest of the universe we’re just a little pebble reflecting light. I felt a little bit of infinity rushing through me, maybe.” She snuggled in against him. “So yeah, hopefully a few crappy sunrise pics will help me remember that moment.”

Chris stayed quiet for a moment, abashed, then asked out of honest curiosity, “Are sunrises _my_ brand?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She laughed.

***

 

> Simmons insists there are plenty of similarities between her and her Insta followers. “I do my own dishes. I do my own laundry. Actually, the first big purchase I made on my own was one of those super fancy washing machines that are powered by, like, space technology.”

“I have a question,” Chris said, holding up her pink-striped boy-short panties. “Why do your underwear have more fabric than your bathing suits?”

She finished folding a shirt then answered, “For the same reason bras are bigger than bikini tops. Having a big ass is great when you want to show it off, but I don’t want to crouch down to get something in the grocery store and have my ass clap in aisle seven.”

Chris looked faintly horrified.  “Point taken.”

Serena folded a few pairs of pants before realizing Chris had gone unusually silent. She looked up to find him still contemplating the underwear. “Hon?” she asked, utterly confused by the look on his face.

“I mean,” he said thoughtfully, apparently in the middle of a conversation with himself. “Here,” he handed her the panties and unbuttoned his jeans.

Serena cracked up. “Are you kidding me?”

“This _has_ to be on the Things To Try list, right?” He said with a grin, grabbing her panties back as he stepped out of his pants.

“Yeah, but with, like, sexy underwear. Those are my yoga undies.”

“They look comfy,” he argued, shimmying out of his own underwear and stepping into hers. “And they’re really soft.”

“They _are_ really soft,” she agreed. She planned to add, _Not sexy, though_ , but what came out instead was, “Um.”

Chris was fiddling with the fabric and adjusting himself and it was completely, improbably hot. He put his hands on his hips when he finished and Serena licked her lips. The waistband of the panties sat just below the cut of his hipbones and the soft bulge of his cock rested snugly above the left leg seam.

Chris reached down to palm his cock through the fabric and Serena nearly fell off the bed. “You like?” He asked.

Serena opened and closed her mouth a few times, but all that came out was, “Nnnnnnnnnnngh.”

“Huh,” he said. “This might be the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless.” He grunted as the fabric slid over the head of his dick. “Fuck, this is nice.” He worked his hand a little faster and Serena watched his cock harden beneath the striped cotton. “Hey Rena, you wanna watch me come in your pretty panties, baby girl?”

“You are the fucking _worst_ ,” she finally managed to groan.

*** 

> “Boston is home,” Evans declares. “Definitely. It’s like the only place on earth where I don’t constantly feel like a total idiot.”

Serena owned a house in Somerville: a huge, old Victorian fixer-upper that her parents were helping her renovate. Whenever she was back in Massachusetts for more than a week, Chris would start hearing about backsplash patterns, pergola designs, and, on one memorable occasion, a whole lot of swearing about knob & tube wiring.

The place was habitable by the time he managed to visit, but there was no furniture and the entire inventory of the kitchen was three forks, so they went out for every meal. Serena seemed to know not only every restaurant in the city, but every staff member at every restaurant. They got comped drinks, off-menu treats, and all sorts of racy gossip. Serena tipped ridiculously and tried to be cool about it, but Chris could tell how delighted she was to do it. He fell in love with her a little more while at the same time feeling utterly out of the loop.

One night, at a Greek/Middle Eastern joint, the chef came out of the kitchen to say hello, and Serena lit up in a way Chris had only seen once before - when she met Meryl Streep.

“Oh my god,” she said, her voice an octave higher than normal, “I had no idea you were back in Boston!”

“I could say the same about you,” he said, grinning. He was short and slim, with olive skin and sharp features. Real person handsome, Chris thought, not Hollywood handsome. “I thought getting my own kitchen at 26 was impressive, then you went and got a freaking Oscar nomination.”

Serena giggled and Chris fought back the urge to point out he’d starred in a movie that made $330 million when he was 26. “Oh,” she said. “David, this is my boyfriend Chris. Chris, this is David. He and I went to high school together.”

“Hey,” Chris said with a lift of his chin.

“Hey, man,” said David. “I’m a fan.”

Chris supposed that should make him feel better. It didn’t.

They chatted a while longer about mutual friends before David said, “I gotta get back to my guys, but it was great to see you. Come on in whenever. I’ll put you on the VIP list.”

Serena giggled far more than was strictly necessary in Chris’s opinion before replying, “Absolutely! So, so good to see you.”

Chris was still grumpy when they got back to the Victorian. “What’s up?” Serena said. “Did the souvlaki not agree with you? Oh, if so, use the bathroom down the hall. The toilet in the closer one is still a little,” she waggled her hand.

He snorted. “No, but thank you for telling me that.”

“Why do you look like you swallowed a bug, then?”

“Who was that guy?” He asked, instead of saying, _All your hip, cool friends make me feel like I’m 8,000 years old and duller than a bowl of plain oatmeal._

He expected Serena to get huffy or dismissive. He did not expect her to burst out laughing. “You’re jealous!” She squealed.

“Do you have to be so _happy_ about it?” He whined, flopping backwards onto her mattress.

She climbed on top of him and gave him a theatrical kiss. “That. Guy,” she said. “Was a senior when I was a freshman. He was in a band. I thought the sun shined out of his ass. He thought my name was Selena.” She leaned over until their foreheads were touching. “Seeing him try to be the cool guy at me was, like, the highlight of my entire acting career.”

Chris smiled. “Better than the Oscar nom?”

“Well.” She pretended to consider it. “I got a free gyro out of it, so yeah, totally better.”

Chris felt her laughter as she kissed him again. The ugly, oily feeling of his insecurity had faded, leaving the usual bright warmth he felt for Serena in its wake. He put his hands on her waist and said, “I know your name.”

She gave him the smile only he ever got to see, with her nose scrunched up and her eyes nearly closed, and said, “You know so much more than that, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as well to everyone who has told me they enjoy this series and this OC. I definitely would not have written (and loved writing!) 20,000 words of ridiculous, porny, RPF OC het fic without your kind words.
> 
> [Find me here](http://katrinastratford.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


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